C'est Moi, Mon Cher
by Toejones
Summary: Chri...Christophe!" I stuttered. "C'est moi, mon cher!" he replied. "But you were... dead!" "Where ever I am, I weel always come back for you mon cher... even if eets from ze depths of 'ell"..................T for language and slight gore


"ITS OVER!" Wendy cheered beside me. Her voice made my ears ring along with all the others around me. I did care that the war was over—and happy it was. But I only cared about locating one person. "Oh Gregory!" Wendy jumped on my back from behind. I went down with a loud 'OOMF'. "It's all over, we won! We won! We're safe, and no one's dead"

I brushed her of fervently "Yes, yes, my dear. I understand you think so, but I must make sure my fieldsman… I mean our fieldsmen are alright" I stood up and brushed my tidy pants off. She glanced at me and worry flashed across her brown eyes.

"You mean Stan?" she whimpered. I'm sure my eyes mimicked hers for a moment before I replied, trying to swallow my anticipation.

"Yes, him among others" I danced from one foot to the other "So if you'll excuse me, I really must check on them!" I tried my best not to sprint away, but my legs were controlled by my emotions at this point, and I couldn't help it. I ran faster than I had ever remembered going, my legs instantly burning with pain. I had only run for a while before I smelled the freshly dug earth. My breath came in ragged gasps as I had to stop before I hit the fence to the back area of the USO show.

The chain-link felt so cold it was almost hot in my pale hands, my senses heightened by my adrenaline levels. I gasped at the temperature and shoved my gloves on before grasping the fence again. I hoisted myself over the barbed wire at the top with grace and landed awkwardly. I felt a _POP_ in my ankle and slid sideways in the snowy mud, staining my clothes. I hardly noticed at the time and frantically took in my surroundings. Then it hit me.

If he was alright I would have seen him up on the stage. My heavy breath caught in my throat and the exhalation came out as a sobbing cough. This just couldn't be. I was just assuming the worst… I had to be. For the sake of my sanity, I _had_ to be! My breath eased back into pants instead of gasps as I placed my palm firmly down onto the ground. I tightened all my muscles and lifted myself up. The pain in my ankle flared, but I pushed forward.

Three minutes. It took three minutes for my world to crash down around me. It took one minute to get used to the pain, one minute to search around, and one last minute to realize what I was seeing. "No…" was all I could say. My body let me take two more stumbling steps to be beside him before it shut down completely. "My fault" I managed again to slip out a garbled whisper before my knees buckled and I landed with a_ splash_, blood and snowy, muddy slush spewing everywhere. "Chri… Christophe?" I wasn't sure if I said it, my tongue felt like mush in my mouth, and the only thing that wasn't numb was the painful way my heart slammed into my ribcage.

A howl broke the wind and I realized that I had been hearing barking this entire time. Oh no… there were dogs here. Vicious dogs… protecting to USO show. There were guard dogs. He had warned me that he could handle anything but dogs, and I assured him there wouldn't be any. How stupid I had been.

My vision cleared enough to see what a mess he was. I took a look from his feet all the way up to his neck first. Deep gashes littered his legs, the dark green army-style cargo pants he always wore torn and frayed to shreds. A deep bite mark could be seen on his stomach, all of the teeth imprinted perfectly. And his shoulder was so bloody, I had to wipe some away to see the gash there. Bright white bone shone through the bloody, dirty, tanned skin. It was cracked enough to be visible. A still-burning cigarette lay in one of his hands and I took it and gingerly rubbed it out in the snow.

His hair, hands and face were the next things up for inspection. The unruly mess of shaggy hair hung limply everywhere, covering his eyes, and blood dripped from the ends, only to join the puddle on the ground. His face wasn't so bad, it only had the minor cuts and bruises he usually had. I almost smiled when I saw the band-aid I had helped him with this morning was still firmly stuck to his cheek. Almost. His hands had always been bigger than mine since we met, about a year ago, more so now than then. His fingernails were as dirty as ever, and you wouldn't have thought he was… wasn't alive by the way they were so untouched by the damage that consumed the rest of him. I clasped one in my smaller, cleaner hand tightly, and was pleased to feel a small amount of warmth still in that calloused, mud-caked paw of a hand. He hadn't died so long ago after all.

I had saved his eyes for last deliberately, those being the things I loved most about his appearance. My fingers lightly toyed with the bangs concealing them until I fought up the courage to brush them away. I instantly regretted messing with them. His deep brown eyes stared back at me for what seemed like forever. I studied the green flecks in them until they were too glazed over to study comfortably.

I closed his eyelids and moved his head into my lap, blood soaking through my clothes onto my skin. I had to imagine harder than I ever had before in my life to think of why someone would just leave him here. And at last I shed a single tear. I had never, _ever_ been a crier. I hadn't cried in over two years. But nothing could stop me now. The first tear hadn't made it past the bridge of my nose before hundreds more guided it down my face faster. They dripped on endlessly, sobs racking my body. The tears started to fall on his face, and I uncertainly wiped them away, wincing as I realized his face was now the icy temperature of a really, really, _really_ dead body. He wasn't just gone anymore, he was dead. Not one ounce of warmth remained. So I did the only thing I could manage. I leaned my head against his and cried my heart out.

"Son of a beetch" I had to be imagining the grumbly French accent I heard. I was so sure; I didn't even look down from his forehead to see his eyes blinking rapidly. "Son of a mozaer-fuckeeng beetch" he stirred and I jolted up with such surprise I screamed. "What ze…Gregoree?" he looked me in the eye, his head still on my lap. I stared at him, mouth agape in a silent scream. He muttered a few choice words in French before sitting up. Had he not been dead a few seconds ago I would had told him to take it easy and not to move. "Que continue ? Où suis-je, Gregory ?" he asked, forgetting he needed to speak English.

"Chris…Christophe?" I squeaked, bewildered.

"Oui. C'est moi, mon cher" he looked around for a moment "Where eez my box of ceegarettes?" he patted his pockets.

"But you were…dead!" I managed. He turned to me and noticed the tears.

"Sheet! I am very sorry, Gregory! Was I really dead? 'Ow am I alive, zehn?" he seemed panicked and I felt his pulse quicken as he held my hand.

I felt my lip quiver looking into his lively eyes. I let out another sob and dove into his arms "It doesn't really matter now, does it, Christophe?" I let out a shuddering breath and he hugged me back.

"Non. Eet doesn't matter at all" he kissed me lightly "No matter where I 'appen to be I will always come back for you, mon cher" something flashed across his face I didn't recognize. It was on the tip of my tongue (now I can't be silly, I'd seen it before). But I'd never seen it on him.

"Even if you're dead, Christophe?" I grasped him tighter.

"As we 'ave seen tonight, mon cher. Even if eet eez from ze depths of 'ell" he winked as I stared at him in horror "Now zehn. Let's go, eet's fuckeeng freezing out 'ere" he smiled and I took his hand. We walked away, but I couldn't help looking back one last time at the pool of blood he had been laying in minutes ago. I wondered if he had really been in hell.


End file.
